Leaves
by thechinskyguy
Summary: Ethan and Kris live out their cycle of golden silence under his beautiful oak tree. But when tragedy strikes the young couple, can they pretend to keep up their cycle...or will it fall with the dying leaves? [Oneshot]


Ethan and Kris sat in the haven of shade under the behemoth oak tree that fed off of Ethan's backyard. It drained nearly all color from the bed of grass, but the tree's majesty provided more beauty than any yard could ever need. Its leaves painted the cloudless sky splotches of green, colliding for a deep shade of turquoise. They fluttered in place as New Bark Town's winds whistled through, but their stems endured their place on the branches with little effort.

The wind blew cooler underneath the canopy where the young couple lay, but they didn't shiver nor chatter their teeth. They had all the warmth they could ask for.

She nuzzled into his chest, lightly clinging to his shirt, gazing at him with unbridled affection. Ethan stared back, his hazel eyes meeting her dark blue oceans. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, grinning. He wasn't sure how long they sat in silence – a few hours, at least.

But as they said, silence is golden.

"Has anyone ever tried to have this tree knocked down?" Kris asked suddenly. "It's awful big, anyways."

He hesitated, savoring that final moment of reciprocated silence. "I think Professor Elm complained about it when I was eight. But it wasn't because he didn't like it. He just hated when it blocked the sunrise."

Kris giggled and looked up. "No way any ol' sunrise could beat this beautiful giant."

"Well, that's something you and this tree have in common," he said, stroking a strand of her bluish hair. She laughed again and chanced a peck on his cheek. Their eyes poured into each other's still, her oceans flooding and crashing with love.

"But this tree's gonna last forever, just like we will," he continued. "I don't care if nuclear winter freezes us all to hell. We'll always have this tree, and we'll always have each other."

She burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "That's the cheesiest attempt at a flirt I've ever heard!"

"Hey! At least it's true!" he objected.

Raising her eyebrows, she sat up against the tree and sighed. "I don't think so. I think that the more beautiful something is, the less it can last. Its beauty stands out too much – the ugly learn to detest it, and vow to bring it down to their level."

He shrugged and snuggled his way into her arms. "I don't believe in that kind of stuff. I just wanna live in the moment, act like everything's constant."

"But that's not what human nature is about! Everything's changing in some way or another, Ethan. This tree's gonna die when winter comes around, but spring brings it back to life. Cycles are funny like that."

Ethan nodded in vague understanding.

"But we can't cycle like that. Once we're dead, we're dead. It's the end-all clause to the contract of life."

We're not dead yet," he pointed out. "And even if we were, why can't we cycle like trees? For all we know, you and I were giraffes in a past life."

Laughing half-heartedly, she stroked his messy dark hair. "Maybe. But it's wrong to act like something can last forever."

He looked back up at Kris again. "We can pretend for now, right?"

A lead landed in a coil of her hair. Plucking it out, she playfully scratched his nose with it. "For now." She grinned."

They laughed and kissed forever – or so they pretended.

* * *

Summer gave way to fall, and the leaves began to redden with age. A harmony of oranges and yellows and browns sang through the skies as leaves skittered through the wind. The air cooled and grew more stale with autumn.

Ethan held Kris' head in her lap, gently rubbing her last patch of wavy hair. A new silence eternalized, crystallized between them.

"When's the operation?" he croaked.

"Three days. They wanted me in as soon as possible." She sighed laboriously, and fell silent.

He let the crisp, crunchy leaves litter his shaggy hair. Kris chuckled lightly, her head slumping on his chest.

"Are you scared?" he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

She shook her head. "I haven't thought about it much, to be honest."

He sighed, and she sighed again. Their sighs interrupted the melancholic silence in the air. Not even the shuddering leaves could dispel that. The sun shone weakly overhead, the heat barely sifting through the pillow of leaves.

"When winter comes," Ethan said, "and it's too cold for this tree, you're gonna be the only thing keeping me warm." He smiled weakly, falsely.

She faltered. "Don't kid yourself, Ethan. We both know that can't happen."

His face contorted in a flurry of emotions, refusing to register her words – "Can't." The word ran through his mind like a record player caught in a loop. _Can't. Can't. Can't. _

"We have to pretend, right?" he pleaded. "For once, can't we act like things are alright?"

She matched his grin, but even he saw the rueful apology within it. Sitting up, she rubbed his shoulder and shook her head. "Pretending is a game for children. We're bigger than that. We know better."

Ethan grunted in frustration. "This is so unfair! To both of us!"

"How do you think I feel?" she cried. "This isn't fun and games for me, either!"

He didn't respond. He _couldn't _respond.

"Maybe this is just the messed up cycle of life," she mumbled.

"It's too early for that. This cycle can't end like this!" Ethan buried his head in her neck, moaning. Kris petted his hair consolingly.

"Not all cycles have the same size wheels, Ethan."

More silence. They let the air's stillness speak for each other, interrupted only by the infrequent gust of wind.

"I'm gonna go home," she said finally. "I'm feeling kinda tired."

Ethan nodded and watched as Kris sauntered from his back yard. The fallen leaves seemed to follow her, dancing in the wind tauntingly. She disappeared from sight without looking back.

He lay against the cool bed of grass and pretended she was still there.

* * *

That year's winter set in quickly. New Bark Town froze over, but there wasn't an inch of snow on the ground. Only mud.

For the first time in a long time, Ethan sat under the tree alone. He observed with detail the nothingness around him and sighed. Oh, how quickly everything became nothing, he thought. How quickly their cycle unraveled.

He basked in the silence, humming a low tune to himself. He thought of Kris, of her silence, of her cycle. He thought of everything before he stopped thinking altogether.

The leaves on the dying brown oak tree spoke in a barely audible whisper as the winds carried them, one by one, to their graveyard on the cold, muddy ground. Their brittle carcasses, chipped and shriveled, wore away to nothing but a stem of their former glory. According to Winter's cruelty, not even that could last.

Nothing that serene could ever last.

He drew his finger through the mud, tracing Kris' name over and over. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, if he could withstand the silence long enough, she'd come back. It'd be like she never disappeared.

Then her voice rang in his head like church bells, clamoring against his feeble mind:

"Don't kid yourself, Ethan."

It echoed in his head, reverberating louder and louder until his ear drums felt like bursting. He clapped his hands over his ears to shun it, to shun _her, _but still her voice slammed him, threatening to collapse his brain at any moment.

And then it all stopped.

Ethan panted, gazing up to the pale, dead sky. On any summer day, when he still had her, the leaves garnished the bright sky; they were the stars of daytime. Forever moving, forever changing, forever enlightening.

But all the leaves had fallen. The sky had dulled, and she had left.

He kicked away the last of the dead leaves and ran off.

* * *

Her name was Lyra.

She and Ethan sat side-by-side under the dormant tree. The gusts of early spring still sent goose bumps up their spine.

"I find it funny," Lyra said, "that even though it's springtime, no one's flipped a switch to make it so."

"I don't follow."

"It doesn't become springtime like that," she snapped her fingers. "It's more like someone turning a crank to raise a curtain, or something. The change from winter to spring is gradual – that's what I don't like about it. It takes too long."

Ethan shrugged. "That's why I like spring. It makes you wait for the good stuff to come back. After all, nothing's really handed to you."

Lyra laughed and snuck into his embrace. "If you say so."

They both sighed in content. They didn't speak to one another, but there was nothing to be said. They held each other against the cool March air, expecting a new forever…or so they pretended.

Above them, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, its somber hibernations over and done with. The sky burst into a new shade of blue, banishing the paleness forever…or so it pretended.

Overhead, in the canopy, the first leaves of spring broke from their wintry slumber, born anew in a new day. They began their dance in the winds, perched for eternity in their branches…or so they pretended.

It would always be just pretend, and they knew it. But they could pretend not to.

* * *

**Reviews, concrits, etc. are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

**-Chinsky**


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